Tangled Up In You
by blackballoons
Summary: When it comes to Samantha Puckett, Freddie Benson has experienced a multitude of firsts in her hands, but this is one first he never imagined sharing with the self-proclaimed she-devil. Full summary inside.


_When it comes to Samantha Puckett, Freddie Benson has experienced a multitude of firsts in her hands. His very first punch in the back of the neck (he still remembers thinking he was going to die), his first time having his head brutally shoved down a toilet, his first kiss... but this is one first he never imagined sharing with the self-proclaimed she-devil. A slightly odd not-on-his-list-of-firsts-to-have first but a first nevertheless, one that Sam personally sees to that he experiences with her. It is a recipe for disaster. If only he had realised that beforehand._

Also known as this is my mind on crack, trying to be funny and dirty and generally failing miserably in all areas_._

Rated T for language and sexual situations. Title from _Collide_ by Howie Day. Quote from Sir Walter Scott.

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_Oh, what a tangled web we weave._

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**Tangled (Up In You)**

If it weren't for the fact that Freddie has remarkable self-control when he needs it the most then he would be on his back right now having a full-out seizure due to the frightening if rather pretty blonde who has her chin hooked over his left shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist and a hand placed comfortably on his lower stomach. He sorta likes it if you ignore the whole fearing for his life that is mandatory for when he is around Sam.

That's 'tough love' for you.

"Freddie." Pause. "Fredward!" Sam clutches onto Freddie's right hip with a death grip he was once accustomed to feeling around his neck. "Put your hand between my legs."

"W-what?" He stutters in his new found 'man' voice, but still in a typical dork-stuck-in-an-awkward situation kinda way because he sounds so damn confused.

Sam huffs, hot air ghosting up Freddie's exposed neck which evokes a shudder down the spine in response, a shudder he doesn't want to ask if Sam felt for fear of her mocking him, even in such a... predicament, if that is the right way to describe what they're doing. She grabs his wrist in a vice-like grip, still the pushy one after all the years they've known each other, and she places his hand in the carpeted space between her spread legs. It's warm, the carpet coarse beneath the pads of his fingers and it has to be one of the oddest sensations he has ever experienced.

He has his hand between Sam Puckett's legs and he's trying not to hyperventilate. On a normal day he'd be waiting for his fingers to be removed with pliers, but this is different because she is initiating this—whatever the hell this has become.

"There, like that. Not so bad, is it, Benson?" Sam laughs, but it isn't her usual borderline demented laugh, it is a strangled laugh, sort of like it has gotten caught in her throat and Freddie has to stop from making a snide comment. Even now, Sam would happily punch him in the gut, or worse, pull his dick off with her teeth.

Anything goes when Sam is involved.

"You don't know what you've been missing out on. We'll have to make up for lost time, won't we, Fredface?" She grins, and it's carnal in the way her upper lip quirks just the slightest bit over her perfect teeth and even though he is in total submission beneath Sam he would happily make an attempt to swipe his tongue across her lethal teeth and relish in her unique taste.

"Oh, you're on, Puckett." Freddie slides out from beneath Sam's body with a new found confidence –maybe it is the hand between her thighs?– moving so he has a knee either side of her tilted hips, one hand still where she placed it and the other beside her head, fingers getting tangled in honey blonde curls. "Put your leg over my shoulder," he orders, getting into the swing of things.

Sam doesn't ask questions, simply twisting one of her surprisingly flexible (a hidden talent, apparently) legs from beneath Freddie and around his neck. As she does this she digs the heel of her foot in between Freddie's shoulder blades, watching with glee as his elbows buckle underneath the pressure and grinning as his eyes go wide and he crashes down on top of her, the hand between her legs shifting closer to her heat in his vain attempt to catch his fall.

"Nobody out does me, Fredweird. Just so you know. Now, hand on my butt."

"Sam, are you sure we're even..." he tries to argue before thinking better of doing such a thing.

"Do it or die multiple painful deaths, Benson."

Freddie sighs, pushing his dark hair back from where it is sticking to his forehead and sits back up to straddle Sam's lap. He doesn't remember ever thinking this is how this first time would pan out. If he is to be honest what they're doing is more than a little odd, but this is Sam he's talking about and odd is synonymous with Samantha Puckett, as is 'violent' and 'vicious' and 'rambunctious' to name but a few in a line of many.

Slowly, he slides his free hand beneath Sam's boxer-clad butt and squeezes, hard, just because he can. Sam gasps and the way her mouth contorts to make the sound has to be the most delicious thing he has ever seen and it leaves Freddie biting his lip to stop himself from saying or doing anything irrational.

"That's not fair, Freddick." Sam scowls, and to back up her name calling she places her hand over the front of Freddie's trousers, pushing the heel of her palm into his crotch. "Now, do that again without telling me and I'll rip it off, got it?"

All Freddie can do is nod in response, trying hard not to react to Sam's hand as to not embarrass himself. Instead, he settles on sitting defiantly on top of her so she cannot go anywhere. It is not very often he gets the upper hand so he is going to enjoy it for as long as it lasts – which probably isn't going to be very long.

"What would your mom say if she knew what you were doing with 'the delinquent child'?" Sam asks after a period of silence, blowing hot air upwards in an attempt to cool herself down, getting nothing but a limp flap of her bangs in return while her fingers walk up and down Freddie's left thigh.

"She'd scream before listing all the possible dangers and then she'd probably take me to the vets to get me neutered."

"The vets? No way. Seriously?" Sam laughs, sitting up the best she can using her elbows and she pushes her flushed face into the nook of Freddie's neck, the vibrations of her laughter passing right through his collarbone to reverberate down his body to pool as pure ecstasy in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, she'd bring you along too, _Samantha_. We'd be ball-less and womb-less... not so cool. We could start a trend."

"Just, stop—talking," she breathes, voice low and heavy, pinching the taut skin of Freddie's upper thighs to leave crescent moon dints and purple bruises he will count, treasure and hide for the next week and a half.

Freddie hisses in pain before nodding and ducking his head, tussled dark hair tickling Sam's exposed collar bone and she pinches him harder to make him stop before she collapses into giggles. Next time she'll bite him – hard. Freddie raises his head to lift an eyebrow, giving her a quizzical look before he pushes her back down onto the floor and the way that they're tangled in a Sam-and-Freddie-knot has their faces perfectly aligned. He glances at Sam's pouted lips, licking his own out of habit and Sam squirms beneath him with no avail as Freddie has trapped both her hands with one of his larger ones, pressing his fingers into her bony wrists hard enough to leave angry red marks but no bruises.

"You lose." Freddie grins and it mirrors the carnal look Sam was sporting less than five minutes ago.

"Um, no," Sam growls, wriggling beneath Freddie until his head is parallel with her chest and she arches her back to bury his head between her breasts, leaving him spluttering and scarlet in the face. "Mama doesn't like losing," she whispers and it is sexy in an extremely scary way and Freddie cannot decide whether he is turned on or back to fearing for his life.

"Ugh, we're not even playing it right, Sam!" Freddie moans, exasperated, but the colour still hasn't left his cheeks. He had never envisioned the first time he'd get a face full of boobs that it would be Sam's. Not like he minds because Sam has a great pair of... not that he ever finds himself looking at her general chest area or anything because that would be perverted and Sam would more than likely rip him a new one if she knew. Oh God, he's staring now.

Sam just glares at Freddie from her place on the floor and having no further argument except several indecipherable noises he glares back at her because if he apologises for staring at her boobs he'll only get a crotch full of knee or something equally as painful and he'd rather that not happen, thank you very much.

"Hey Freddie, come down here," Sam says after a beat, a friendly smile fixed to her lips and if Freddie were running on all cylinders he'd know she is planning something potentially lethal, but he's not because the girl beneath him seems to have stolen his ability of knowing when he is being lured into a trap. She makes a gesture with her head for him to come down to her level and writhes in his hold when he pauses for slightly too long.

Against his better judgement Freddie leans forward, still keeping his hands around her wrists because he is not letting her get away that easy. As he gets closer to Sam's face the dirty blonde beneath him puckers her lips and in the late night plus lack of sleep haze affecting his brain he lets his own lips mirror hers in an automatic response, eyes slipping closed and grip loosening around Sam's wrists.

Grinning inwardly, Sam waits until Freddie has almost closed the distance between them before she surges upwards to catch his lips with hers in an impatient kiss. Moving her lips against Freddie's, she feels his body lose its tension as he sags against her, getting caught up in her peppermint lips and she silently counts from one to ten. Upon reaching ten she takes Freddie's lower lip between her teeth and bites down, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to draw blood.

"What the—" Freddie pulls back and yells and Sam has to plaster a small hand over his mouth to stop him from making any further noise and waking everybody in the apartment complex up.

The shock and the throbbing pain in his bottom lip creates enough distraction for her to get the upper hand and flip them over, using nothing more than a hand she slides from Freddie's grip to shove against his chest, toppling him onto his back and regaining her position on top of him.

"You, you kissed me?!" Freddie exclaims and it sounds both shocked and accusing, but there is little he can do from the position he has ended up in yet again. Maybe he is destined for a life pinned beneath the obnoxious blonde which is something that appeals to the sadomasochist inside of him.

"And you've got a boner," she quips in return, bouncing slightly in her sitting position and she wishes she had a camera to capture the look on his face so she can use it to tease him something rotten until they're both old and grey. The mixture of pleasure and pure horror twisting his face is going to provide her with hours of entertainment at his expense.

"You always play dirty. Can't you ever play nice?" Freddie hisses and it would be borderline menacing if it weren't for his erection pressing against her left butt cheek and distracting her from the task at hand.

"Nope, Mama plays to win," Sam murmurs under her breath before licking a line up Freddie's cheek for good measure.

"Ugh!" He makes a face like Sam getting her spit all over his face is the most unhygienic act in the world, seemingly forgetting that they've shared saliva in a far more conventional way on several different occasions. Maybe Freddie has some kind of Benson logic that makes kissing a-okay and face licking an arrest-able offense, Sam doesn't have a clue, and she can't really be bothered to sit and question him about it right now.

Sam does not get the chance to pass comment about their previous saliva swapping techniques because fluorescent light fills the room from overhead, taking over from the dim light being cast by the stupid Japanese lamp beside the couch and the sudden contrast burns their retinas so they are left seeing nothing but multicoloured spots dancing the cha-cha-cha across their vision.

"Sam, it's like four in the morning. Why the hell aren't you in bed yet? The _Girly Cow_ marathon ended two hours ago." Carly's voice calls out somewhere to their right but neither of them can see her because of the funky light patterns still swirling in front of their eyes. Sam stays still on top of Freddie who looks ready to piss his pants with fright and allows fifteen seconds for Carly to blink through the sleep in her eyes and see the activity happening on her living room floor.

Now she thinks of it maybe they should have tried this elsewhere.

Five, four, three, two and...

"What the chizz are you doing on my living room floor?! Why is Freddie here? What—why—huh?!" Carly garbles, flapping her arms around her head like the mad old lady two floors below does whenever she loses any of her precious (rabid) cats.

"Freddie's here because I was bored and made the nub come over and what we're doing is, uh, Twister... with a twist," Sam replies, forcing a smile onto her face, the smile she saves for teachers and adults when she is trying to make them think she is telling the truth when in fact she is lying her ass off.

"Don't use your liar face on me! Oh my God, you've got Freddie playing Sam's Sexy Twister? You've never been able to convince anybody to play it before because nobody has ever been stupid enough to fall for it!" Carly's voice raises an octave and Sam has to bite her tongue to stop from making a comment about the drinking glasses in the kitchen being on the brink of shattering. It would only make Carly more angry and the last thing she wants to deal with is a pissed Carly Shay at stupid o'clock in the morning.

"Carly, chillax would ya. Freddie's been enjoying himself, haven't you, Fredducini?"

Both girls turn their attention to Freddie who is still being straddled by a bold looking Sam and his face is blank in a I'm-about-to-implode-or-throw-up way and he looks like he is about to slip into a catatonic state. To be on the safe side Sam slaps him clean across the face and when he raises a hand to cradle the swelling flesh she flashes Carly a pleased grin.

"He's gonna live to play another day," she says, wiggling her eyebrows as well as her butt, knowing the reaction she is causing in Freddie's lower region.

"Sam, how could you corrupt his poor innocent mind? What did I tell you about Twister being confined to a plastic mat that has coloured circles and playing by the rules and not incorporating your own 'put your hand down my pants' ones? Wait, is he, oh my God—who's for ice cream?!" Carly nearly screams, horrified beyond belief, and plasters a joyous grin to her face like she always does in moments of peril involving her two best friends.

"Carly, it's four in the morning. Nobody wants your stinking ice cream," Freddie replies in monotone and it is the first thing he has said since Carly's appearance ruined what was meant to be Freddie's first time playing Twister, the normal kind where you use a mat and your left hand goes on yellow, your right foot goes on red and so on and so forth. But of course he had to enlist Sam's help in learning to play Twister (any normal person would have simply bought themselves a Twister mat and learnt that way) and he has ended up being part of some sexualised freaky shit that there is now no return from.

He realises he is going to be damned to a special level of hell for this.

Really, he should have known better. He should have learnt his lesson from countless other times where he has been talked into doing as Sam says but clearly he is a gullible idiot who falls all too easily into Sam's humiliating traps.

"Go to bed and leave us to it." Sam directs a firm 'do as you're told and you will not wake up to find Freddie stuffed in your fridge freezer and your brother super glued to the bathroom ceiling' glare at Carly and it does the job by filling Carly with fear of suffering agonising torture if she does not disappear pronto. Not saying another word the brunette scurries back up the stairs she came down not two minutes ago, but before turning the corner to climb the second set of steps she casts one last concerned look over her shoulder. Sam sees this and sticks her tongue out at Carly's 'rabbit caught in the headlights' expression, smirking as Carly turns and takes the rest of the stairs two at a time, tripping several times.

"She's gone," Sam says once she hears Carly's bedroom door click closed and the floorboard near the bed creak, signalling that their brunette friend has returned to bed and isn't hiding at the top of the stairs to spy on them. She returns her attention to the tech producer pinned down by her hips on his hips, planning on flashing him a devious grin, but the look of deep (and slightly confused) thought on his face throws her off track. "'Sup, Fredward?"

"Sam, what are we doing?" He eventually asks in response, voice sounding strained and it is only then she realises what she is still sat on and she moves her position to enable him to think and speak coherently.

"Playing Twister," she replies matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that unintentionally pushes her boobs together and gives her a killer cleavage in her pajama tank top.

"This is last first time I'm playing Twister with you," Freddie mumbles from his submissive position but there is a clear smirk returning to his face that completely counteracts every word coming from his mouth. "But I mean what's this?" He waves his free arm around, gesturing at tangled mess their legs have created.

"This isn't just Twister, my dear Freddork. This is Samantha Puckett's Special Sexy Twister reserved for the first idiot stupid enough to agree to play it. Anyway, we're having fun, aren't we?" She rocks her hips forward again, slotting them into the rise-dip-fall of Freddie's pelvis where they fit like they were made to belong there and Freddie reacts in the correct way with an audible groan disguised as a gasp.

"S'pose." It is his turn to sound like his voice is strangled, lodged somewhere in his oesophagus. "How did we go from insomnia induced semi-friendly conversation to playing a version of Twister that involves the kind of gyrating a hooker would be proud of?"

She lets the comment that alludes to her being a hooker drop, not wanting to start a full-on verbal war at long gone four in the morning. Instead she launches into the tirade that may or may not explain why they are where they are.

"I couldn't sleep so I stole you from your bed against your will to come over and keep me company because despite popular belief I am allowed to sometimes enjoy your company. Anyway, we started talking about some nonsense to pass the time and you brought up how you had never played Twister because your crazy mother deems it dangerous and unnecessary." She pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "So I took it upon myself to play your first game of Twister with you. Then, then we couldn't find Spencer's ancient Twister mat... you said we could pretend we had one and it was around that time that I realised that I could get you to play the brilliant version of the game I thought up ages ago and never had the chance to put into action. Um, I got a little too inventive, you did everything I said like a good boy and uh, we ended up where we are now." She smiles sheepishly as she finishes explaining, the sheer absurdity of their actions only becoming apparent after she has voiced them out loud.

Sometimes she could punch herself for acting before she thinks.

"Right, because that is completely normal," Freddie mutters and he has a tone of disbelief to his voice that matches the disbelief she is feeling.

"Freddie, we're not normal." She gives him a swift punch in the shoulder for even suggesting such a thing. "We never have been and we never will be normal."

Unable to think of anything witty or sarcastic to snipe back with Freddie resigns himself to always being done over by Sam. He knows the blonde enjoys getting one over on him and that she keeps a mental tally to compare the amount of times she has fooled him into doing something ridiculous to the rare times he has managed to do the same back to her. The tally must stand at a bajillion to three by now, or some other equally as insane. It may drive him to the brink of insanity but if it never happened then things would not feel right and their dynamic would get thrown out of whack.

"So?" Freddie says to break the quiet suffocating them and he knows the situation could go one of two ways. Either she'll remove herself from him and allow him to flee to the comfort of his apartment with the door locked multiple times or she'll try and further push the boundaries of whatever it is they have going on.

"Wanna commence with round two?" she asks with a devilish look on her face and he should have automatically assumed that she is not done having fun just yet.

"Only if you promise to play nice." He counters her offer, seeing no obvious way out of playing a second round of Sam's 'Let's Torture Freddie!' game, not like he'd take the way out of he found it.

Maybe he isn't done having fun either.

"Psh, I don't know the meaning of play nice. I know one way of playing and that is playing dirty." To illustrate her point she rotates her hips in an agonisingly slow circle.

He may regret all of what has happened and is to happen in the morning when there is the chance of feelings between them turning awkward (even more awkward than they already are in their weird 'friends with benefits' style relationship, if such a thing is possible), but at present he couldn't care less.

"You're on."

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**A/N:** I've had this in my 'Must Write' folder for months and a bout of the flu last week caused me to get off my ass and write it. If it appears a little ridiculous I blame the flu (I also blame it for any mistakes). I'll be updating my other stories sometime in the near future.


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